


unfinished works (abandon all hope ye who enter here)

by crackers4jenn



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, M/M, cuddle queen Rhett McLaughlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 10:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19226863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackers4jenn/pseuds/crackers4jenn
Summary: A collection of halfway, semi-, andalmostfinished unfinished fics.





	1. Cuddle Queen Rhett McLaughlin

**Author's Note:**

> Please note while reading these that it's entirely likely they may never be finished. :(

This was a story that was inspired, quite obviously, by the cuddle episodes with cuddle queen Jean. There was definitely going to be some inappropriate, mid-cuddle handjobs, but I did not get that far along.

///////

"I'm so tight," Link complains, rolling his shoulders to try to loosen up his sore muscles. "It's all this freaking stress."

Turns out, starting your own entertainment business is freaking _stressful_ , even five years into the endeavor. In the time between legalizing the business and now, his grey hair count has grown exponentially. He is now a guy who purposely peruses the hair dye aisle.

Being single at 39? That's a whole other factor.

"You already know what I'm going to say," Stevie tells him, with an inflection that implies this is a repeated conversation. "Go see--"

"'The Cuddler,'" Link talks over her, verbalizing the air quotes he's almost petty enough to use.

Stevie's giving him a long, unimpressed stare.

"You know that's not his name."

"Do I? It basically says so on every bus bench I see."

"It says 'professional cuddler,'" she argues.

"Yeah, and how creepy is that?" He makes a face. "You think a degree is necessary? Or, like, a _license_? How certified do you hafta be to cuddle and ask people to pay you for it? Pretty ballsy."

Stevie's already five jumps ahead in this conversation they've definitely had before. She pulls up a web site on her phone, showing it to Link, who squints at the bright light suddenly thrust at his face in the evening darkness of his office.

"This is a real, legit thing. People, especially ones who are, you know..." She trails off awkwardly, trying to think of the nicest way to currently describe Link's life, and because it _is_ a repeated conversation, he knows exactly where those dot-dot-dots are going.

"You can say it. 'Permanently, relentlessly single.'"

" _Choosing_ to focus on their jobs," she supplies instead, with a raise of her brows that dares Link to self-deprecatingly argue otherwise. "It's possible to get touch-starved, especially if you're the sort of person who likes to be touched."

"I wouldn't say _likes_ ," Link says just to be stubborn about it. "I allow it," he offers.

Stevie proves her point by scritching the back of Link's head like a cat. He, of course, responds by melting into the touch, just shy of pleasurably sighing.

"I'm not going to say 'I told you so,'" she says when she stops, pretty much facially gloating over Link's response. "I'm going to say, instead, go. Get out of here."

"I mean, it was mildly inappropriate," Link agrees with some put upon sass, "but you don't gotta kick me outta my own office..."

"I scheduled you an appointment with bench guy. The Cuddler. You're gonna thank me," she predicts.

Link stares.

"I'm serious," Stevie laughs, "look at my phone." She holds it up for Link to see again. There on the screen is a recently purchased, and recently confirmed, appointment for a 5 p.m. cuddling session.

Damn the internet.

"Stevie, I'm not about to--"

"Umm yes, you are, because this cost me $75--"

"Seventy-five dollars?!"

"Hard, hard-earned cash," she agrees. "Happy birthday. Don't waste my money."

"This is extortion. And it's not my birthday."

"Happy Tuesday."

Link sighs and stares up at the ceiling. In doing so, a new cramp makes itself known in his neck. He rubs it, then catches himself just as Stevie pulls his jacket from the back of his seat.

She shoves it at him and commands, "Go."

He lets himself be harassed out of his chair. "Yeesh, woman. It's only four," he argues, slipping into his jacket.

"Be a suck-up. Get there early."

"Pretty sure it don't work that way."

"You might get a two-fer," she says, with a dryness that seems to want to imply something.

"Wait, what was that," he tries, but she's literally pushing him towards the office exit, swiping his keys off his desk as they go. Those get handed to him too.

"Mentally journal the whole thing," she orders. "Might make a good 'cast."

"The freaking heck, I'm not--"

Stevie shuts the office door in his face with an 'I'm doing this for your own good, but also lol' grin.

"Okay then," Link mutters.

**

It's only because Link's so frugal that he actually goes.

And, sure, it wasn't actually his cash Stevie used (unless it was, in which case, they would need to talk about that) but the point is, a whopping $75 was paid for the hour. It seems stupid not to use it.

Almost as stupid as it seems to pay it in the first place.

For reals, who _cuddles_ someone for payment?

When Link enters the lobby area of the building, he's expecting it to look like a doula's waiting room. He's expecting wall fountains and trickling water music and 'live laugh love' art. Instead, there's a check-in desk at the back, a lone couch, a couple of arm chairs, a coffee table covered in magazines, and a potted plant. The only art on the wall is a landscape one -- redwood trees, maybe.

"Hi," the woman in the back greets him. It's the smile on her face that keeps him from retreating, that $75 be damned -- it's soft and reassuring, almost like she's in on the joke of how ridiculous this whole thing is. Link lets himself be summoned by it.

"Hey," he calls. "I, uh. I got an appointment."

"Your name?"

He pulls up to the edge of the desk. Like he's at a bank, it's the kind that goes up halfway to his chest so he's not looking down at the receptionist. He eyes some brochures and taps the desk surface with anxious fingers.

"Link," he tells her. "Neal."

She squints at her computer screen. "I've got a Charles."

"Stevie," Link sighs. "That's my name, I guess, if you wanna believe my birth certificate." He's pulling his driver's license out of his wallet. "Link Neal," he proves, pointing to his middle and last name. "Technically Charles. But that's my dad."

"Okay," she smiles at him, handing him a clipboard and a pen. There's a form to fill out.

"What's this?" he asks even as he's glancing it over and putting two and two together himself.

"Liability," she answers. His eyes blow open wide, and go back to hers -- that a joke? She just keeps up the smile, not giving away a thing.

Okay. He makes a mouth noise that says pretty much the same thing, then gestures at the couch and heads on over.

Turns out, it's less of a liability thing for him and more of a 'I solemnly swear to not be a pervert' contract. After the expected stuff -- name, birth date, address, contact information -- there's a whole paragraph that explains the strictly nonsexual nature of the cuddle, and how anything untoward will be considered lewdness bordering on assault.

Seriously, that's a thing? He reads it over and feels creepy anew. It ain't a great feeling when the default presumption is you're a horny weirdo looking to get your jollies off.

After he signs it, he brings it back to the receptionist.

"My friend bought me the appointment to _relax_ ," he feels compelled to explain. And, of course, instantly he regrets it, because now she really is looking at him like he's a guy with gross intentions. "That came out wrong. I meant all those words I said, in the order I said 'em, but the tone was--you know what, I'mma shut up and be over there," he points. After a stare that concludes the exchange, at least on his side, he does indeed head back over to the magazine area.

The wait isn't long. They must have a back exit, because no one has left through the lobby by the time the other door in the room opens.

Six o' clock on the dot, a tall-looking guy comes out and calls for Link. Since Link's the only non-employee in the room, it seems a little unnecessary, but maybe you want to make sure you're about to cuddle the right person. Maybe that's cuddling policy.

Link stands up and strides toward the newly opened door -- and reassesses his assessment of 'tall.' At 6-ft, Link, by most standards, is taller than average. This guy's got like a whole other half-of-a-foot on top of Link. He's like a dang giant, and gangly too.

He's probably gawking as he's led through the door and down a short hall.

"Mr. Neal," the guy says, ushering him into a second room. "My name's Rhett." The door closes behind them a second time.

"Call me Link," he says absently, taking in the new location. It's a bit bigger than the last. There's very obviously a bed in the center, but there's also a bean bag futon near the window, a recliner beside that, and another couch for good measure.

"We like options," Rhett explains with some wryness.

At least he's acknowledging it.

Rhett guides Link through the room. "The bed, of course. It's a full. Kinda hellish on the back but most people prefer it. It's intimate, but not really. You share beds with your friends and your family, so most people feel comfortable starting out on it." Link's staring down at it, trying to envision himself laid atop its heavily blanketed mattress, spooned up to this stranger he only just met. Rhett leads him to the futon, that he toes at. It's a weird time for Link to realize the guy's only wearing pink-and-black striped socks. "Good for stress. You kinda just sink into it, so even if you're weirded out by the whole 'cuddle' thing, you're kinda being cuddled anyway, by an inanimate object. The couch sorta speaks for itself. It creates close quarters, if that's your thing. Chair's less popular, but sometimes being upright helps bridge the trust."

If this seemed weird before, it's definitely, without a doubt, the stupidest thing he's ever gotten himself into now. He laughs, and it's just this side of hysterical, and he barely even feels bad about it because he's so outside of himself at the moment.

"I'd like to say that was a first," Rhett tells him, with a humor that's so deadpan, Link only catches on that it's a joke when Rhett starts to smile. "Lemme guess. You saw our ad on one too many late night commercials. Got curious. Got drunk. Caved and bought a session only now you're wondering what the hell you're doin' here?"

"Got coaxed," Link volleys back. Rhett's eyes widen in anticipation of clarification. "My employee--Stevie--she thought I was stressed enough I warranted a cuddle. No offense, I'm just... weirded out, I guess, by all this. We really supposed to just... get on the bed and spoon? For an hour?"

"If that's what you want," Rhett tells him, in a voice that lets Link know he takes no offense to Link's clear-as-day judgment, like he's heard it all before and got tired long ago of defending himself.

"What do _you_ want?" Link only realizes that's not the sort of question he should be asking when Rhett starts frowning. "I mean. Lemme go back. What do most people usually want?"

Rhett holds out a hand towards the bed. "Kinda cliche, I know."

"Right. Right. Um. Follow-up. You got a cleaning service that comes in between these sessions--?"

Link's surprised by Rhett's full-on laugh. It's loud and it sounds real, which makes Link feel nice for reasons he doesn't want to think about. "You signed the waiver, right? Same as everyone else. There's no bodily fluid on any of the furniture, 'cept maybe drool."

Link's eyebrows rise straight to his hairline, Rhett's words landing as easily as a lure in the murky North Carolina waters of his home. "Oh?"

Rhett catches on quick. "99% of my clients fall asleep in ten minutes. No joke."

It's been ages since Link had a decent sleep. Most nights he's able to pass out quick, but it's the staying asleep that's the problem.

"Not to presume, but just going off the glazed look you got in your eyes right now, you wanna..." Rhett nods sideways at the bed, urging Link that way while leaving it up to him.

Submitting to the experience, he lets himself be led the same way he'd follow the instructions of a doctor. At this point, strange as the reality of it may be, it feels clinical enough he can turn the loud parts of his brain off that keep pressing for a freakout. He will not be his usual over-analytical self about this. He's go-with-the-flow Link today. He's try-anything-once Link.

He's crawling into bed with a strange man.

When that thought bursts his zen-bubble, he tenses anew, but Rhett climbs in beside him and flops to his back, jiggling the entire bed. Link watches Rhett cross his arms over his chest and stare up at the ceiling until the moment feels so surreal, it circles back around to something close to normal.

Rhett's letting him get comfortable, he realizes. He's letting him settle at his own pace. That's nice. That's real nice. With that thought, he lets himself ease into a horizontal position, overly aware that he's still got his shoes on, but you know what. He ain't so comfortable he's about to take them off. Laying on his side with his back to Rhett, he gets two pillows under his head, and half of a third, and wiggles around until he's as cozy as he'll ever be.

Twenty seconds pass in silence, outside of Link swallowing audibly the one time.

Then the mattress jostles on its shaky metal frames, and suddenly there's a strange man's hand coming down around his midsection. Every muscle in Link's body tenses.

"This okay?" Rhett asks, not pulling away, but not pushing any further. His voice, too, is soft and lulling, and in another situation might've had a different effect on him.

Link forces out a too casual, "Yep."

Rhett lets out a pleased exhale and scoots closer, until Link feels a collision with his backside. His mind races to identify the body part -- hip bone? Thigh? It doesn't stay pressed up against him long enough to find out; once Rhett has dragged himself close enough to technically be considered the big spoon, his weight pulls him back again, leaving space between their bodies.

Aside, of course, from Rhett's arm slung around Link's waist, which drapes heavily but impersonally, tucked near Link's hands. Link stares at this rogue body part of someone he doesn't know, taking in the wrinkles, the large knuckles -- the sweat?

Sensing Link's line of thought like a freaking psychic, Rhett lifts up to one elbow, eying his own hand. He pulls his arm away with an apologetic wince. "Sorry. Condition." He wipes the sweat off on his pants, then just flops back down and resumes the position. "It's not contagious."

Okay.

It takes a couple of minutes, but eventually the same self-preserving rationalization that comes over him in public bathrooms takes over now. Standing with your junk out at some urinal next to some other guy with his junk equally out is inherently weird, but only if you let it be. He doesn't have to let this be.

Link's eyes flutter shut.

Quietly, Rhett asks, "What do you do?"

"Entertainment entrepreneur," he murmurs vaguely.

"Ouch," Rhett jokes. Then, "That a dream-job?"

"If you're askin' if I grew up wantin' to hate myself, the answer's no. Kinda went to school for something else. Kinda just happened."

"Quit?"

Link sighs. "You offering to pay my employee's bills? Wish I could, man."

"What would you do? If you could, I mean. Quit."

"Don't know. Hair stylist?"

"Seriously?" Rhett scoffs.

Link glances over his shoulder to glare. "That a comment on my hair? The grey's a recent development."

Rhett slides his arm across Link to give the standard palms-up gesture of defense.

"Anyway," Link says, with some sting he doesn't really mean, "we can't all cuddle for a living."

"Yeah, but think about how much better the world would be," Rhett teases right back, his arm around Link again.

"Naps," Link agrees, because that's exactly what he feels lulled into. He asks, "What about you? Were you like six years old, just waiting to grow up someday and be a professional big spoon?"

"I little spoon too," Rhett deflects. Link glances behind again, and Rhett grins, "I'm an equal opportunity spooner," with some innuendo Link's gonna pretend not to hear, given their arrangement. "And, yeah. You're joking, but actually, I did imagine something like this for myself. I did the 9-to-5, business suit thing. Didn't like it. Did this instead."

"Hmm," Link grunts.

"I'm sensationalizing it a little bit. I didn't actually imagine this," Rhett says, with a purposeful tug at Link that puts them in direct contact once again. This time, they don't fall apart. "But I knew I wanted to help people, which I do, in an admittedly unusual way. I lived in a commune before this. People called me Raindrop."

Link laughs. Then he realizes Rhett's being serious.

"Cool," he coughs.

Rhett huffs out a noise full of humor. "Whatever, man."

After that, silence takes over. It would be understandable if it was uncomfortable, but it's not. It feels okay. 

Rhett asks, "Would I know you from anything?" in a voice too soothing to be a whisper, but close to. "Movies, TV?"

"You on the internet? Or got a 11-18 year old who is?"

"I read," is Rhett's answer.

"So, no. I do a YouTube thing. Show, I guess. Internetainment," he tells him, pushing it out with a smidge of self-deprecation.

"Hmm."

"Does it pay the bills. Absofrigginlutely. Am I on the verge of being morally, emotionally, and ethically bankrupt? Well, yes. I get a lotta comments--" He bends his neck to look back and clarify, "That ain't a brag."

Rhett's eyes go wide. There's some mirth there. "Okay."

"I'm serious. They're not even nice comments, which is my whole point. You ever got a hate comment before? Now times that by a thousand, and that's what my day looks like. 'Bring back the wings'," he mimics, dumbing his voice down to imitate a generic obnoxious viewer. "'Be more like BuzzFeed!'" Pfft."

Rhett's arm gets a little more snug around his waist. "I got a semi-bad Yelp review once," he tells Link.

Link stops in his tirade to stare back.

Rhett confides, "Guy thought this--" Another, more pointed squeeze, "included a massage." His widened eyes spell out exactly which sort of massage he's talking about.

Link's instantly back in his head again, aware of how extremely not normal this entire thing is.

"Guess he got pissed when I ended the session early," Rhett continues, super casually. "Still gave me 3 stars though."

Link's brain is circling around one thought. He clears his throat and locks his gaze on a plant across the room. "You don't do that, then? I mean, you've never..."

"Hmm?"

He's gonna make him say it.

////

(whomp whomp whomp)


	2. College AU

This was going to be a fake-dating college AU, but I just never got into it.

//

 

On his way to get food, Rhett's digging around in his pocket for loose change when he spots a flier taped outside the cafeteria that immediately grabs his attention. Probably because it's decorated with a bunch of hand drawn dollar signs, and as a guy in college who has recently come to know financial responsibility for the first time, it speaks directly to his interests.

Casually he crosses the pathway and gets a good first look at just what this money-boasting flier is recruiting for:

**PAID RESEARCH OPPORTUNITY**  
Romantic Couples Study

You and your partner are eligible to participate if you:  
-Are in a committed, monogamous relationship  
-Have been dating for at least 6 months  
-Are currently living together  
-Are both over the age of 18

A sigh blows through Rhett, and with it, disappointment, since a quick glance at the disclaimer-sized text lets him know the study is paying $75 per hour for these interviews. He is very much single. But even as that gust rushes to reach the farthest corners of his being, something faster pushes past it -- insanity. Which, today, is disguising itself as opportunity.

They may not be dating, but he knows someone who meets, hell, more than half those requirements.

Without much thought beyond the prospect of easy cash, Rhett texts the sign-up number on the flier to volunteer himself, then takes a pic with his phone.

Feeling good with that life choice, he jangles the change in his pocket once more and heads inside the cafeteria where he goes for _two_ meals, just because he knows he's soon to be flush with cash.

//

When Rhett gets back to his and Link's shared dorm later that afternoon, he shoulders his way through the door the same way he always does, with a lot of jiggling on the knob and a slam for good measure.

Link's on the couch with his head tipped back so he can stare up at the ceiling. "Hey," he calls out.

Rhett lets his backpack slip to the floor near their designated shedding spot by the door before joining Link. He drops down right beside him, jostling him, but not enough to disturb his existential stare-off with the ceiling.

Without saying anything, Rhett pulls up the photo he took on his phone earlier and passes it over to Link, with a nudge to his elbow.

Link sighs and grabs it, and then sighs again when the picture doesn't stir any strong swellings of recognition.

"What am I looking at?"

"Rent."

Link blinks at Rhett, then looks at the picture again.

He's a little too slow on the uptake for Rhett's liking; Rhett grabs the phone back and zooms in until it's just a close-up of the text. He points for Link's sake. "This program's gonna pay couples to show up and answer questions."

Link makes a face that asks him: so? Then he quips, "This your way of saying you gotta pay a girl to be with you?"

"Ha, and _no_ , you jerk-ass. I'm sayin'--" He bounces his eyes at Link excitedly until something starts to click inside Link's brain. Very slowly, Link gets it. Rhett tries to build on that positive momentum, reading, "' _Eligibility for participation: must live together_.' Check. ' _Must both be over the age of 18._ ' Check."

"Hold up hold up hold up. You're not saying--?"

"That we'd have to be freaking idiots not to take advantage of this?!"

Gone is any indication that Link, only moments before, was the very picture of college angst resting bonelessly on the couch. Now he's riding the edge of the cushions, rigid with confusion. "Sure, sure," he says. "WHAT?"

"Man! Look," Rhett points again. "We meet like... half these requirements. More, if you think about it."

"Think about WHAT," Link repeats.

"Committed, monogamous relationship? When's the last time you been with someone, not counting your freakin' right hand?" Link sputters an argument that gets ignored. Rhett tells him, "We been best friends since six. Doesn't get more committed than that."

"Okay, but." Link makes a face like his whole belief system is collapsing in on itself. Probably because he can't tell if Rhett's being serious or not. "That says 'romantic.' You got a real cute face--" Rhett shoves the joke right out of him, taking the sarcasm out of the remainder of his words with an elbow to Link's ribs, "but you'n me? Are not... that. Romantic, or whatever," he repeats like it's leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

"Yeah, no crap, but THEY don't know that. C'mon. For seventy-five bucks, you tellin' me you couldn't pretend, for _one_ interview, you n'me are dating? Seventy-five DOLLARS! We got rent due soon," Rhett tacks on casually, dropping that like a lure in a lake.

The reminder of rent almost seems to do the trick. Then Link squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. "My moral obligations are yellin', 'no no no!' pretty dang loud at me. Seems kinda wrong, don't it? Lying for money?"

"I mean, you gotta figure other people'll have seen the flier. Odds are somebody else has proposed this exact scenario to another somebody else, and those somebodies have already done and gotten away with it."

"That's your argument? Somebody else already did it, probably, so we should do it too?"

"It's _a_ argument, I didn't say it was mine. Besides, you think a program like this is being funded through honorable channels?" He widens his eyes to spell out: _wake up to the corruption of the world_. "All I'm saying is, take out the romance and we're a perfect match."

"Yeah, except the romance is obviously what they're looking for, otherwise they'd specify 'roommates.'"

"You won't do it?"

Link heaves out a exhale that lets Rhett know he isn't happy with the corner he's been backed into, since Rhett, clearly, thinks this is a great idea.

But Link's never left Rhett hanging.

"FINE," he agrees to it. "Only 'cause I spent my last twenty dollars on freaking groceries. You owe me," he insists.

//

"This is stupid," Link complains some eight minutes and thirty three seconds later.

"It's not," Rhett argues.

"Oh, okay. Point taken."

"Link..."

"Rhett, the guy who knows it all, says it ain't, so I guess it ain't, but guess what? Spoiler alert. IT IS."

"Want to see stupid right now, maybe look in the mirror."

Link stares back, offended.

Then he tries to bolt to his feet, only Rhett's got fast reflexes. He reaches out and stops him before he can leave the couch.

"Sorry, I'm sorry."

"This isn't gonna work," Link tells him.

"I said 'sorry'!"

"I'm not talking about -- I'm talking THIS. We can't even think up a fake date story without fighting, you really think we can be interviewed for real and convince someone we're like... super _in love_ , or whatever."

Ignoring Link's needling tone, Rhett says, "Remember when we were little -- I wanna say eight, maybe nine -- me 'n you used to sit up in your room and make those cassette tapes? Remember? You'd be the guy who'd do all these interviews like you were some anchor on the news and I'd just sit there laughing?"

Link's started smiling with the memory from their childhood. "Hm. Think you were Minnie Pearl one time."

"Yeah, I probably was, 'cause you'd throw it out there and I'd just roll with it. We can do that _now_. It'll be a little weird, but so what? People think we're dating all the time anyway."

"Yeah, I reject that," Link tells him dryly, and then whines, "Fine, but I feel uncomfortable about this. What if they separate us and ask us the same questions but we give different answers?"

"They won't. And if they do, so what. It's not illegal what we're doing. We get caught, we leave. We laugh. I find a flier for black market organ donations. Rent still gets paid."

"Ha," Link huffs out sarcastically.

"Let's just figure out some basics. How 'bout that? That way, even if they separate us, we can pull from the same place. So, same back story -- met when we were six, first day of first grade. That's romantic, right?"

"So romantic, Rhett," Link snarks.

"Um. First kiss was -- how old you think? Sixteen maybe?"

"Fine."

"'Cause I started dating Leslie and you got jealous--"

"Oh, what _ever_. _I_ got jealous? You're dreaming. I think, out of the two of us, _you'd_ be the jealous one."

Rhett rolls his eyes. "Okay."

"Um, _yes_. Probably because you really did."

"Yeah, because you started dating her _after I already dated her_ \--"

Link holds a hand to his ear. "What's that? Jealousy, is that you? Hello?"

"ALRIGHT," Rhett gives him flatly. "I got jealous. You happy?" Ignoring Link's answering smirk, Rhett goes, "You think we gotta figure out first date stuff?"

"This is feeling a lot like actual work, so. No. 'Cause I don't wanna."

"Yeah. But just in case."

"We jerked each other off, then spooned in the back of my pick-up. How about that?"

"Bet you'd like to jerk my junk," Rhett gives right back. "C'mon, be serious. They could ask this stuff."

"Well, it's unoriginal, so I hope to crap not. Let's just say we went on a drive to nowhere. We just drove and talked and stopped at the river."

"With a picnic?"

"Sure, Rhett, with a picnic. We had dinner in the bed of my trunk."

"Where you jerked my junk."

"Psh. I'm not a first-date jerker."

"You gave it up for me, though. Had me in the back of your pick-up truck and you couldn't resist. Just had to get your hands on my--"

"Jacket, because it was cold, so I dropped you at home early. We didn't even kiss goodbye."

"Man, whatever. You really think you'd just _drop_ me off at home like I'm not top-shelf kissin' material? We kissed. Trust me. And then some. I'm talkin' the French kind."

"This is the most depraved conversation of _my life_. Aren't you feeling, I don't know. Scarred? I got goosebumps, and not the good kind."

"It's _fake_. Besides, every time it starts to get weird, I keep picturing that money we'll be getting."

"You're corrupt."

"Pretty much. So. First date, first kiss. You think they're gonna ask sex stuff?"

Link honest-to-god chokes on air so bad his eyes start watering. "No."

"No way are we dating three years and NOT having sex. No way possible."

"It's crossed a line I'm comfortable with. My ears are bleeding."

"Quit being a baby about it. It's not like they'll ask for details."

"Still! You think I wanna have people thinking we're-- oh gosh, it's too gross, I can't even say it."

"They're gonna think it. They might even ask it."

"Ugh. Eighteen. We waited until we were eighteen. End of."

"What about--"

"I'm not answering questions about that. They can check the box that calls me a prude for all I care."

There's a beat.

And then Rhett says, "Think we'll get away with it?"

"God, I hope."

//

"Hey there, Link. Rhett. Go ahead, take a seat," the lean, dark-haired woman gestures to Rhett and Link, indicating a couch across from a single chair.

She takes her seat there, waiting until the pair is seated in front of her.

"Like we discussed over the phone," she says, to Rhett, who took said phone call, "my name is Gina, I'll be asking you questions based off a list I have. It's sort of like those scripted phone calls you get from telemarketers, except I'm a little more... loosey-goosey. Any questions so far?"

Link's started squirming. "Um, no."

"Great. Let's start with a formal introduction. My name's--"

"Is this being recorded?" Link blurts. "Sorry."

"No. I'll be writing my observations down, but there isn't going to be a transcript."

"Okay."

"My name's Gina Lorenzo. You are--?"

"Rhett McLaughlin."

"Link Neal. Well, Charles Lincoln Neal. The third," he adds.

"You're probably curious why you're here, what we're trying to glean from you." She smiles. "Unfortunately, I have no answers to those questions. At least, not ones that I can share. Top secret. And, from past experience, we found that once a partnership knows the intention of the interview, they tend to unconsciously skew their answers instead of replying honestly. There's no correct response here. It's just an open answer-and-question system."

"So, no gold star stickers at the end?" Rhett jokes.

"I didn't say that. Let's talk social media. Do either of you have a Twitter, Instagram, or Facebook account?"

//////

(whomp whomp whomp)


	3. High School AU

This was going to be a tale of Link having a bit of an existential crisis involving Rhett, right before college.

///

 

'Record-breaking temperature' is a thing that happened often in Buies Creek, with a regularity that made it the bowel movements of weather phenomenons.

Link, being pretty active in his day, grew up used to the feeling of sweat pouring from every sweat orifice possible, mostly on account of playing outside nearly to the point of dehydration or heat exhaustion.

Somehow, even though he knows he's experienced similar before, today seems unbearably worse than usual.

The AC works just fine in his room but only if he situates himself directly in front of it. For a time, he rolls his desk chair over and does just that, but he can only sit still for so long, and his Gameboy craps out on him pretty early, its batteries dying long before he's had time to master a College Slam tournament. He tries going shirtless, just a guy lying in his bed half-naked, but soon he starts sticking to the covers. He tries the plug-in fan.

Still, nothing works, The heat's crawled inside of him and is now a living thing underneath his skin, breathing out its damp breath that only make him sweat more.

With his arms moving half of their own accord and half because he told them to, he reaches over and grabs the phone by his bed, the one shaped like Garfield that, depending on the person, either embarrasses him or endears him to the ladies. Rhett's number is so ingrained in his brain, even while his mind is melting like butter in a hot pan, he's able to dial him up, so effortlessly it's like he inherited a super power for the moment.

Rhett answers after two rings. "Yo."

"Hey, thug. Can you put my best friend on the line?"

"Hilarious. What do you want?"

"Man, ain't you dying? It's so hot."

"I guess."

Rhett has the sort of AC that goes through the whole house without needing to have one of them huge units sticking out the side of a window. He was probably over there in a turtleneck, lording his comfortable temperature over the rest of them.

"Wanna come over?" Rhett asks. "We're gonna eat real soon. Sloppy Joes."

Link does like Sloppy Joes. But he'd have to shower, if he was gonna show up inside Rhett's house. To look presentable for Mama Di, of course. He wouldn't insult her with his current state.

"You wanna drive?" he asks instead, liking the idea as soon as he thinks it, which is the exact second he says it.

He can hear Rhett snort through the phone. "To where?"

"Uranus," he shoots back.

"Might need some lubrication for that," Rhett jokes just as easily.

Link hears it, and then he hears it again, with its intended meaning. He feels a new wave of heat roll through him, settling down in his stomach.

He swallows.

"Gross, Rhett."

Rhett's chuckling at him. "You freaking said it, man. I'll see ya in fifteen?"

"Gimme twenty. Gotta unpeel myself."

"Don't wanna know," Rhett tells him, and hangs up.

//

Two honks is their signal to get on out.

Link's just laying into the second one when Rhett comes busting out of his house, calling something to someone inside before he closes the door and moseys down his walkway.

The truck windows are already down to try and force a breeze that ain't happening.

"'S hot as balls," Rhett says in lieu of a hello, opening the passenger side door so he can slide himself in.

"No crap," Link snarks. Rhett shoots him a look while he settles into what has started to become a Rhett-shaped groove in the passenger-side upholstery, since Rhett is so frequently the person sitting there.

Link waits for the click of Rhett's door, then he floors it.

"Hey--not in front of the house!" Rhett shouts over the roar of the engine, but he grips the dashboard to brace himself, already laughing.

One of these days Link'll leave tire marks. Rhett's dad'll probably whoop Rhett for it, _and_ him, but it's on his list of things to do before they leave for college in a month. He likes to tell himself it's because it'll be like leaving a semi-permanent signature that says 'RHETT AND LINK WERE HERE' for anyone driving by to see, but deep down he knows some of it has to do with the resentment he feels toward the McLaughlin driveway. All the times he'd want to hang out with Rhett, only Rhett was stuck doing basketball drills out there. Maybe if he wasn't forced to spend so much time on it, they'd be going to a different college in the fall, following their own dreams instead of living out someone else's.

Link's stewing by the time they make it to the first stop sign, surly thoughts circling inside his head. Rhett's let go of the dash and has started searching through the glovebox. He pulls out a Brooks and Dunn cassette tape with a grin at Link, and most of the anger that came over Link flies off fast. It's hard to stay upset when Kix and Ronnie start blaring outta the speakers, the bass turned up loud enough the floorboards thump.

He's got no destination in mind, and that ain't any different from their usual drives, but after about five minutes of aimlessly abiding by the speed limit, Rhett asks him, "Where to today?" like they're a couple of pioneers considering which direction'll offer better adventures.

Two options hit his brain at once. After Rhett's, he'd turned left at the highway, which means they're heading toward Lillington. They could pull off the road and hike to the river. Should be low enough this time of the year they can cross real easy. Or, maybe he can circle back around, head into town again, see if maybe Ben or Zac want to come out too. Might mean they might see some girls, if the other guys join.

Rhett kicks up a leg and settles back, squinting through the glare of the late-afternoon sun. "Let's see where she takes us today," he says dramatically, meaning both the road and Link's gender-assigned car. That's a-okay with him. He pushes the gas pedal a little harder and propels them further from home.

Aside from the music, the howl of the wind whipping in through the windows, and the occasional rattle of a passing vehicle, it stays mostly silent the next couple of miles. Rhett sings along every now and again, and Link lets him without interruption or accompaniment, liking the sound of it. Rhett's got a real good voice. In another life, down a different career path, he could be a country singer. There's not a doubt in Link's mind Rhett wouldn't make it. And Link would join him, obviously. They'd be the world's first country duo featuring every fifth graders perfected instrument of choice, the recorder.

Of course, instead, they're going to NC State.

Rhett tells him, "You're doing it again, man," leaning forward to turn the music down.

That accusation's taken over Link's life the last couple of months. Since before graduation, to be exact. Since the moment he was accepted at NCSU, to be even more exact.

It means he's brooding. Means he's wearing a figurative dark cloud and Rhett takes that as permission to start digging for reasons _why_.

"It's hot," Link answers. Alright, deflects.

Technically it ain't lying, though -- even with him going 10 over the speed limit, inside the truck it still feels only a few degrees cooler than the oven that is currently Buies Creek, North Carolina.

"Bull-effin'-crap." Rhett lets that hang there a couple of seconds, until every word turns into its cuss alternative they've stuck with the habit of not saying.

"Bull yourself," Link shoots back. Without permission from his brain, he tacks on defensively, "Why're you tryin' to talk about my feelings so bad, anyway? Doesn't that go against the Jim Mc _Locklin_ ' way?" he needles, purposely butchering Rhett's dad's name while hitting the Southern accent hard.

He doesn't have to look over to know the insult landed; the tension in the truck is instantly thicker than the heat.

They haven't ever hit each other on purpose -- there've been plenty of accidental blows during moments of roughhousing where one guy knocked an elbow too hard into the side of the other guy's face, or someone got jabbed in the ribs -- it's always been a side effect of the fighting and has never really escalated into anything else, but right now, Link's thinking Rhett might cross that line and Link might actually deserve it.

Rhett asks, "What's that s'posed to mean?" in a flat, even tone that makes it feel like Link's tip-toeing through mines.

Normally he would take the opportunity to backtrack and claim ignorance. This ain't the first time he's spoken unkindly of Rhett's dad and had to do just that. But dangit, look where that's got them.

He grips the steering wheel tighter. "Thought your dad always preached men oughta act a certain way? You know, feelings are for girls, or gays."

"The hell is your problem, man?"

"Same one you should be having!"

Rhett just stares at him with his eyes bugged out, and not in their regular way. Feeling reckless and pushed well past his limit after letting things build up for so long, Link pulls off the highway, sending his truck skidding to the side of the road. He cuts off the engine as a cloud of dust kicks up from the brakes working.

"Alright. What?" he demands of Rhett.

"Don't 'what' me, 'what' yourself. You're the one who's lost it."

"Screw you."

Rhett's eyes get even bigger somehow. Then they narrow, and that seems even worse. "Finally. You know, all these months of you actin' like a little bitch, it's about time you grew some balls--"

"See, there it is. I told you! There's that McLaughlin rearing."

"Quit talking about my dad like that."

"Quit acting like him! And quit doing every stupid thing he tells you to do, stupid!"

He can tell by Rhett's stare Rhett's not following along. To him, this is an attack coming clean out of nowhere, but to Link, this has been brewing since the first time Link showed up at Rhett's house wanting to hang out and got sent back home because Rhett had homework or some chore to do instead. Since the first time Rhett's dad came banging up the stairs and yelled at him and Rhett both for laughing too loud, and all the times after. Or any time him and Rhett have sat a little too close, shared a bed, appeared something other than friends and had to deal with Jim McLaughlin casting judgments upon Link like he'd inherited those rights straight from God.

For just a few minutes they don't say anything else. Link's fuming so hard he's breathing heavier than he oughta be, and they haven't broken eye contact. It feels like the mood's shifted enough Rhett's not thinking about punching him anymore, but that's a dangerous thing, because now it feels like something's happening to their friendship.

Finally Rhett says, "Is this about school?"

Figures Rhett would nail it in one. Link wonders how long Rhett's been sitting on that -- if he's known this whole time or just this second put two and two together? His tone doesn't give the answer away. It's got no inflection for Link to go off of. He can't tell if he's walking into a trap or being sympathized with.

He glances away from Rhett's heavy gaze, frowning instead at the horizon ahead. "Maybe."

"Yes or no, Link."

Link mimics him under his breath, then admits, "Yes." Unlike Rhett, it ain't hard to figure out his tone.

Rhett takes a second to say anything, and then he asks quietly, "You want to go somewhere else?"

"YES," he agrees.

How is that not a thousand percent obvious to Rhett? They forged an oath using their own blood stating -- _promising_ \-- they would go onto create something awesome together -- that wasn't just some middle school rite of passage made among a field of cow patties, it _meant_ something, and that something sure as hell wasn't some degree committing them to a lifetime of business slacks and the slow demise of brain cells.

"No one said you had to freaking follow me," Rhett tells him, getting angrier as he goes, like his words are fuel to some fire Link lit when he started this whole thing. "I never asked you to, _you_ did that all your own, and now you're _blaming_ me like I forced you to my hip or something?"

The turn Rhett's taken sneaks up on Link fast. He doesn't like the way it immediately calls forth his every insecurity -- the ones that say he's always held Rhett back, he's never been as popular, they're only friends by circumstance. The loudest one that says maybe, just maybe, Rhett made the choice to go to NCSU on purpose, hoping Link would take the hint.

"You don't wanna go," Rhett finishes with some sting, "don't freaking go."

A semi-truck speeds past. It sends the truck rocking on its wheels and, for just a moment, distracts them with its noise.

When quietness settles once more, Rhett shifts.

"Let's head back. Probably looks like we're doin' something illegal, just parked to the side like this." His tone is empty, devoid of emotion.

Obeying on autopilot, Link turns the keys in the ignition -- then stops before the engine comes back on.

"Get out," he tells Rhett. Rhett looks over at him like he's lost his damn mind. Fair enough. He says it again. "Get out."

"Real freaking mature, Link, I'm not walking back, we're _miles_ away--"

Link cuts him off by getting outta the truck himself. He slams the door on the rest of Rhett's words and stomps around the back of the pick-up until he's on the passenger side. He yanks open Rhett's door.

"Out, now."

Rhett spills out one gangly leg at time, hands pulled up in surrender like Link's threatened him at gun point. When Rhett's got both feet on the gravel, Link shuts the door, knocking into Rhett's elbow as he does.

"Jesus, Link, what the _hell_. Calm down, man."

Link grabs Rhett by his shirt sleeve and drags him into the corn field they'd pulled off next to. From their angle, it looks like it goes on endlessly in every direction, split only by highway.

Rhett lets himself be dragged but he sputters and curses until they've made it about forty feet in and Link comes to a dead stop. Rhett bumps into him from behind before yanking his arm free.

"You have lost your damn _mind_ , Neal." He swings Link around to face him. "Gonna hit me out here? Huh?"

That's the stupidest thing Link's ever heard. Rhett's taller by about six inches. It'd be suicide.

Rhett crowds in closer, intimidating him with his extra height.

"Do it."

Instead, Link rocks forward and kisses him.

Immediately Rhett reels back, but Link is pulled with him like they're roped together. They stumble without falling, sending several stalks swaying while they re-right themselves. Link feels Rhett grip him around both biceps, and then he feels Rhett shove.

Link trips a couple steps backward, enough to separate them all the way; enough that reality comes crashing through and the urgency that had overcome him zips off fast, leaving him overly aware of what just happened.

For the record, that was not his intention. Dragging Rhett into a cornfield to lay one on him? Yeah, that wasn't even a thought in his mind. He only figured they might brawl or shout and it seemed, in his moment of anger, better to do that outside of the confinement of his truck.

After a stare-off that doesn't seem to be going anywhere any time soon, Rhett stalks off, back toward the pick-up. Who knows why, but it fills Link's whole body up with regret, and not the kind he should be having. Not the kind that says he just ruined their friendship for good, but the kind that says they haven't finished what they started.

He races forward, darting in Rhett's path. He runs into a stalk of corn but cuts Rhett off, too.

"Link," Rhett warns, pulling to a stop with a look in his eyes that threatens he isn't above manhandling Link out of the way.

"Just, wait. Rhett," he starts with nowhere else to go. He doesn't know how to tell him that was an accident but only in the way it happened, not that it happened. He's willing to admit after the fact that he's wanted to do that before. You know, only every time Rhett's ever given him a Merle mixtape or camped out next to him or smiled in his general direction. Just those handful of times that equals _always_.

Rhett snorts, then sidesteps to move past him. Link cuts him off again and this time Rhett throws up his arm to physically force his way ahead. All it does is tangle them together, sweaty limb to sweaty limb.

"Just--freaking--stop," Link grounds out, pushing Rhett back to separate them once again.

"Why, so you can do it again?"

Link's heart is yanked straight into his throat with the pointed way Rhett says 'it,' like he can't even bring himself to call it what it was: a kiss.

"You made your point, Link," Rhett says. There's bitterness laced in every word. Not mean, but just sort of flat and detached. "Congratulations."

Since no part of that includes Rhett calling Link a freak, it derails him. It knocks him on his proverbial ass.

Rhett demands, "You gonna punch me now?"

"Are _you_ gonna punch _me_?"

"Why would I--?"

That's when something seems to click for Rhett. His eyes grow twice their regular size. All of a sudden, something seems to just _shift_.

"Hold up. You...?" Before saying anything else, Rhett swallows audibly. Moves forward a step. Lets out a disbelieving, breathless laugh. Then he says, "Link."

That's all, like that's supposed to mean something. Like Link's supposed to figure out whatever that something _is_.

"I'm not sayin' sorry, if that's what you're waiting for," Link tells him, scowling at Rhett's increasingly looming face. "Besides, out of the two of us, you do more stupid things more often, including," he stresses, trying to talk through the distress that's sweeping through him now that Rhett's crowding him in, "choosing freaking NCSU, and -- and that time you ate chilli outta Missy's mouth just to impress her -- okay, that was me, sure, but you _let_ me do it, so that makes you stupid by association, and--" He swallows. "Rhett," he panics.

Rhett's looking at him so dang intensely. There was this one time in middle school when they were both at a kissing party -- as they were each entertaining the lips of their respective female partners, they made eye contact mid-makeout. Link remembers being on the couch, putting all his recently acquired kissing techniques into okay-ish use (Annie the CPR dummy deserved all the credit) when he had the feeling like he was missing out on _more_. That's when he happened to open his eyes, and that's when he spotted Rhett on a nearby lounge chair, only it wasn't a serene, close-eyed look he saw on his friend's face, it was a look pretty similar to what Rhett's giving him now, his eyes locked on Link's, soft but intense at the same time.

Link swallows again, watching Rhett's gaze skip from Link's eyes, to his lips, to his goozle, back up to his lips again.

Maybe it ain't been so one-sided after all. All them times Link wondered if Rhett would make a better kissing partner than his shower wall, maybe Rhett had similar thoughts. It took all of knowing each other a year before Rhett started drawing 'family' pictures that included Link in them. And them games of 'house' they used to play at school, when all the other kids would pair up boy-girl to be husband-wife but Rhett always, always picked Link?

Rhett's stopped with the tips of their shoes touching. This close, Link can see the mole near Rhett's mouth he's trying to hide with facial hair. Which makes no sense, by the way. Anyone kissing him's still gonna know it's there.

 

///

(whomp whomp whomp)


	4. Camping (cuddling for warmth)

This was going to be a cuddle-for-warmth fic but I never got past the beginning scene.

//

They're not dumb enough to go camping in the dead of winter.

They are, however, the exact kind of stupid that finds themselves stranded, in December, in the middle of nowhere, with an empty fuel tank and no cell phone reception.

"How is this _my_ fault?" Link argues while he's rooting around the trunk of the car in search of gear, which proved to be futile some twenty minutes ago, but a second search was insisted upon.

Rhett's bottom half is sticking out the back seat door. He's kneeling on the seat that he's looking under, in hopes of finding strewn pieces of clothing or an emergency roadside kit. He stops long enough to lean back out the door and glare at Link. "It wasn't me who was s'posed to make sure the gas tank was full."

"You could'a reminded me," Link says back, half-muttering it under his breath, half-sass.

"Are you freaking kidding me? Last text I sent before you picked me up said 'LINK, CHECK GAS,' in all caps. I specifically reminded you because I knew if I didn't something like this would happen, and it did."

"I didn't get it."

Rhett stares in disbelief.

"Okay, I didn't check," Link backtracks. "Sue me."

"You're like a five-year old, you know that? 'Sue me,'" he repeats, dumbing his voice down.

"Screw you."

"'Screw you.'"

Link slams the trunk shut, making the whole car jostle. "There's nothing back here except brake fluid. I'm hungry, but I ain't _that_ hungry. You find anything?"

Rhett, with his freakishly long legs and chronic back pain, emerges out of the car like some sort of injured-looking alien, wincing the whole time he straightens. He's got a rolled up sleeping bag in his hand.

"Just this," he says. "It must've got left behind last time we took the kids camping."

"Good. At least if it gets cold enough we'll have something to cocoon up in."

"Hold up. This is mine. I found it, I'm using it. You can use your jacket," he points, gesturing at Link.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously. I'm not cocooning with you, man. Besides, it's your fault we're stranded, so you don't get to be warm."

"That is the stupidest logic."

"True, though," Rhett says. Clutching the sleeping bag close, he walks around the car, to the driver's side where the door's been left open, and slides right in.

Link, after a moment, joins him on the passenger side.

"You're seriously hogging it?"

Like he hadn't already done it a hundred times, Rhett turns the keys in the ignition. "Yup."

The engine, of course, doesn't start.

"You're gonna let me freeze just to prove some dumb point?"

"Yup," Rhett says again.

"Alright. I die, that's on your conscience."

Rhett shrugs like he literally couldn't care less. "Fine."

"And," Link says, getting in close so he can point a finger right in Rhett's face, "I'm haunting the crap out of you. I'll steal your covers at night as my ghostly vengeance."

Rhett scoffs but doesn't say anything else. He gives up on the keys and throws his head back against the headrest, sulking.

"You think it's going to get below 20'?" Link asks worryingly. It's already almost two. They've only got a couple more hours until the sun sets.

"Might," Rhett answers him. Tired of hoarding the sleeping bag, he stuffs it underneath the driver's seat, making Link roll his eyes.

"You know I'm gonna sleep in that thing, I don't know why you're being such a jerk about it."

Rhett's silence is worse than any sort of comeback. Something about the passive aggressive nature of it hits hard. It makes him fight back, dirty.

"If you didn't make me come on this 'so cool' hiking trip," Link accuses, with some seriously hostile finger quotes, "we wouldn't be stranded, so I've got every right to be just as mad at you."

By the end of that, Rhett's staring at Link like he's lost his damn mind.

"What?" Link defends. "You're the genius that wanted to hike, remember?"

"I _told_ you--" Rhett holds up a finger and starts counting off, "--cells don't work out here, it's out in nowhere land, and _CHECK THE GAS._ "

"I didn't see it! I'm sorry. I'm not gonna keep saying it, so get over it."

For long, tension-filled minutes, they sit in silence. The only noise is the occasional breeze that blows through the car, going from one open door and exiting out the other.

It had been Rhett's idea to go hiking. That wasn't a lie. Mostly because they were coming up on another Good Mythical Morning hiatus and that meant their usual weeks-long break from one another.

They'd been spending a lot of time together, with the new GMM format, with the tour, with all the promotion. And even so, with individual vacations looming ahead, Rhett thought it'd be an awesome idea to spend one last day together, work-free.

Link angles away from Rhett, moodily staring out his side of the car.

The hike itself had been great. It'd taken two hours just to drive to the place, and they'd left the first sign of dawn, just before L.A. traffic was getting bad. For five hours they climbed up rocks and did all the exploring they could do before they figured they were going to run out of daylight.

It wasn't until they got back to the car that their current dilemma made itself known.

"You got anything to eat?" Rhett asks out of nowhere.

Link looks over in suprise, glad to no longer be ignored. "Maybe?"

He picks open the glove compartment. There are a couple sticks of beef jerkey and some protein bars.

Grabbing a jerky stick, he offers it to Rhett as a peace offering. Rhett grabs it with a lingering look that seems to accept the olive branch.

"You think they'll find our bodies all the way out here?" Link asks, in the mood to be morbid, and maybe lighten things up while he's at it.

Rhett snorts. "I hope so. What if we did die out here, and then we became, like, one with the land?"

Link's gone to a gross mental place. He makes a face.

"No, man, think about it. Two skeletons in a car, but eventually the car's just like, a rusted frame that vultures hang out on, and eventually some guy a hundred years from now finds us but the way it looks is like _thousands_ of years ago this whole place was covered in water and we're these pirates that died--"

"In a car," Link adds, light on the sarcasm.

"Won't even matter. It'll be so disintegrated, no one'll know what it is until they do one of them x-rays on it to carbon date it. We'll be the Pirate Boys." He locks eyes with Link, excited by this. "Hey--pirate buddies. That's a movie, man. That could be a TV show."

"Not if the ending is: they die in a car."

"Look at The Walking Dead."

"Sure, people die in cars on that show all the time."

"That's just the inspiration for it. We don't actually have to kill the characters that way. The pirate thing, though? C'mon. That's a hit."

"There are characters now?"

"Think about it--no one's done pirates yet. How come no one's done pirates yet?! That's gold waiting to happen. I'm serious, at the very least, this needs to be a sketch."

"Long Beard and Cap'n Neal. Like Cap'n Crunch."

Rhett reaches out and whacks Link in the chest. "Yes! See?! I told you, man!"

Contagiously, Rhett's enthusiasm gets ahold of Link. He laughs. "Okay, okay. I'm getting it now."

"Our flag's got the cockatrice on it."

"Yup, yup," he nods along.

"You think Long Beard's got a eye-patch?"

Link snorts. "Um, _yes_. I got a hook for a hand?"

Rhett dismisses this with a hard shake of his head. "Peg leg. 100%."

"For reals?" Link laughs.

"No _way_ he doesn't have a peg leg. Dude, think about it for a second, okay, you don't want a hook hand anyway."

"'Cause I'd gouge my eye out?"

"Well-- _yes_ ," Rhett huffs out a laugh, "but you know why else." Pointedly, he flares his eyes at Link, with a lewdness that's pretty dang suggestive.

Link shoves at Rhett. "Gross, man."

"I'm just saying. I've been known to like a little pain with my pleasure, but hook stimulation? Nuh-uh."

"I get it. Geez. Your brain disturbs me, you know that, right? Like the thoughts you have are the thoughts of a disturbed person."

"Whatever. I just saved you from hook-inflicted penile injury."

"Rhett," Link complains.

"You could thank me."

"Sure, okay. How 'bout we move on now?"

"Aye, Cap'n Neal," Rhett growls in a British-accented pirate voice.

"You're such a dork."

" _Arrrr, methinks we've been stranded in a dry sea_."

"You're doing this?"

" _Thar'll be vultures soon. And other pirates. Ol'... Chase the Scourge_ \--" He starts cracking up, and Link judges him hard.

"You're bringing Chase into this thing, seriously?"

" _I'll kill ya first b'fore I let another pirate have a go at ya. I'll eat ya like a sausage_ \--"

Rhett's laughing at himself and Link's shaking his head, just this side of fond.

" _Your tender meat_ \--" Rhett keeps going.

"I want no part of this," Link insists. "I'm out."

Rhett's practically red-faced at this point, so delighted by his own doings. " _Tastes like salt_ ," he pretty much wheezes in a voice that rises with his delight.

"You realize you went from having a really great idea, to this."

"No, it's great," Rhett sobers up fast. He slaps Link's arm with the back of his hand. "It's still awesome."

Link shrugs, not conceding, but not encouraging Rhett either. He finds himself riding that fine line often, especially in business meetings.

With one last chuckle, Rhett looks out across the deserted mountain range and lets his great idea go. Link's known Rhett long enough, though, to know there'll be a full outline of the Pirate Boys soon.

"So," Link says, after a beat that passes quietly. "What next?"

 

///

 

(whomp whomp whomp)


	5. AU - Time Travel

So, I wanted to write this in the same way the Buddy System 'verses are written: ridiculous things happen, but there are no over-the-top reactions. Clones? Robot tongue? Alarm clock hearts?! Sure! I started this before season 1 ever even came out, though, and got a ways into it, but then I got distracted and that was the end of my interest. 

//

_7:03 a.m._

Rhett woke up to the sound of the neighbor's lawn mower.

He didn't really ease into consciousness; it was more like being forced out of a pleasant and relaxing dream state, straight into the reminder that the world was loud, bright, and that it existed beyond his bed, which was currently empty, himself aside.

Rolling over, he ignored the back aches that came with the movement and bleared tiredly at the spot next to him where, on a normal day, he'd find his wife still sprawled out and dead asleep. Straining his neck a little, he sniffed the air in hopes of catching a whiff of breakfast-related goodness, but nothing passed through except his own morning breath, which was all the incentive he needed to get up.

He untangled himself from the top layer of sheets he was usually too warm to use, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and sat up. His back, of course, immediately protested, a sharp jolt of pain shooting straight up his spine. Height or age, he couldn't tell you. Little flicks of fire seemed to ride every nerve ending in his body. He winced and rubbed the sore spot, and then flinched again when somebody else's cold hands started massaging the muscles in his shoulders.

"Mmm." He relaxed at his wife's touch, letting his eyes close and his head fall back.

"You like that?" Link murmured, right in his ear.

Rhett's eyes flew open.

He bolted to his feet with his heart racing so suddenly at the shock of what was definitely an unexpected and unfamiliar touch, it was like being pulled out of sleep all over again, only way more violently.

"Really?" Link said. Rhett turned to face him, holding his hands over his crotch in order to maintain some level of modesty since Link was in his freaking bedroom, kneeling on his freaking bed, not very dressed himself. "My massages ain't _that_ bad," he told him, jokingly offended.

Of all the things Link could've said, that made the least sense, since Rhett's problem wasn't the performance level of the massage itself so much as it was the fact that Link WAS IN HIS BEDROOM.

Link ignored whatever freaked-out face Rhett was making at him and got off the bed, side-stepping past Rhett with a slap to his ass. Rhett, naturally, propelled forward like he instead prodded him with one of them electric fly swatters.

"Get a move on, hot stuff, we gotta go in early for that YouTube Red thing. Oh, joy," Link muttered sarcastically, flashing Rhett a brief grin before strolling out of the bedroom. He called from down the hall, "Coffee's on the counter!" before Rhett heard the bathroom door halfheartedly slam shut. A few seconds later, the shower started up.

Rhett's heart continued racing. Probably on account of the fact that he woke up on the wrong side of _crazy_.

Moving forward gingerly, he slipped out of the bedroom, down the hall, and past the bathroom he could hear Link whistling in, shower curtain rustling, to the kitchen where he expected his wife was hiding out -- and the punchline to whatever joke this was supposed to be.

Instead, all he was greeted with was a steaming mug of coffee that boasted 'Most Handsome Husband Award' on the side with a cheesy vector graphic of a trophy.

"The hell," he said under his breath, his confusion mounting.

He didn't know what the game was here, but he was almost impressed with the commitment; he couldn't hear the kids, so Jessie must've gotten them out of the house sometime that morning before he woke up, and Link was pretending to take a shower -- that was some next level stuff.

"Very funny, guys," he called to no one in particular, but he figured someone had to be nearby to gauge his reaction. Maybe Eddie with a camera. Otherwise, what was the point? "Hilarious. You could've warned me first thing I'd see this morning was a half-naked Link... a guy's gotta prepare himself for something that scary."

The only response he got came from the neighbor's lawn mower abruptly cutting off.

Perplexed, Rhett reentered the hallway, going past the bathroom again. He stopped long enough to confirm Link was still wasting his hot water before he veered off towards the kid's rooms.

The door to Locke's room was closed. Rhett opened it, anticipating the family to come charging at him in laughter, but he stopped short when he entered, instead, some place entirely unrecognizable. The whole room had been redecorated. Gone were the football posters on the wall, the toys, the twin-sized bed. Now it had all his and Link's spare instruments in it, plus a couch and a huge flat screen TV plastered on the wall beside some of their early YouTube accolades.

Shep's room right beside Locke's revealed a similar change: it was a guest room, not his son's room, and Rhett left it with the door wide open feeling more bewildered than ever. And, admittedly, annoyed, because now the joke had gone too far.

He didn't bother knocking on the bathroom door before he entered. Just let himself in, again expecting something other than what he got; he expected Link to come at him with a "WE GOT YOU, MAN!!!" and an obnoxious finger pointed in his face, but Link was genuinely, definitely, taking a shower, and just as certainly naked: the boxer-briefs he'd been wearing were inside-out on the bathroom floor.

Link must've heard him come in; he poked his face out the edge of the curtain with a pile of soapy bubbles on top of his head that had him squinting when some stray suds trudged down into his eye.

"Water conservation?" he wondered, and the way it came out was like this was an inside joke of theirs. Like it was the Link half of a Rhett-and-Link conversation they regularly had.

"Where's Jessie?"

Link blinked and switched which eye he had closed to avoid a new onslaught of shampoo runoff. "Where's who now?"

"Not funny, Link."

"You see me laughing? 'Bout to cry, yes, 'cause _dang_ , this shampoo burns--"

Rhett yanked the curtain open. Link didn't rear back to hide his naked body like he should've been doing. He just wiped the soap out of his eyes and stared at Rhett like Rhett was overreacting to a guy having a shampoo problem.

"What?" Link demanded. He called it out again when Rhett turned and left him like that.

Rhett headed back for the bedroom, which felt like a safe place right now. Link called his name, but Rhett ignored it, shutting the bedroom door behind him. It felt twelve kinds of nuts, but his logic right then was: probably he was lucid dreaming and if he just got into bed, closed his eyes, and gave it a minute, when he woke up for real, everything would be back to normal.

Only, Rhett got distracted by the dresser along the wall.

More specifically, the framed picture on the dresser. It was supposed to be him and his wife, a black-and-white shot of them taken at their wedding, a candid moment caught of them mid-dance. This one had him and Link, but the insane thing was, it looked exactly like the one of him and Jessie, all that had changed was the person he was embracing. And he definitely never took this photo, so how the hell--? Someone was paid to Photoshop it, that was the only possible explanation, but he couldn't wrap his brain around the idea of Link being that detail-oriented. Link loved a good prank, true. But the easy stuff, the ' _kick your chair out of the way when you're about to sit down so you almost fall_ ' kind, not whatever the hell this was.

Link came into the room while Rhett was still holding the photo, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair dripping wet.

"You wanna tell me what that was about? If you called dibs on the shower, you gotta tell me. With words, not your mind, much as you swear I can read it. What?" he said, of Rhett's staring. "Are you mad or somethin'? I swear," he laughed, "I didn't hear you, I wasn't cutting in!"

"This is a joke."

Link wound up beside him, opening the top drawer of the dresser. Jessie's underthings drawer. Except Link pulled out a new pair of boxer-briefs, nothing of Jessie's in sight. At Rhett's words, he gave him a brief side-glance that consisted mostly of his raised left eyebrow.

"Okay? Should I be laughing?"

"No, _this_ is a joke. This--" Rhett indicated the room with a sweep of his arm. His voice, he realized, had gone up a couple of octaves higher than normal, and he could feel something pretty freaking close to hysteria trying to force its way in.

Link made his way over to the bed and sat on the edge, losing the towel in the process. He pulled on his underwear, looking up at Rhett, totally unconcerned. Semi-worried. But otherwise, completely casual, giving him two raised brows that time.

"The decor? I mean, I did vocalize a need for a mirrored ceiling, if you recall--"

"LINK," Rhett cut in insistently, rounding on Link with the picture still in his hand. "Prank's over. You got me."

Getting to his feet, Link took the photo from Rhett and put it back on the dresser. "You feeling alright? I didn't wear you out last night, did I?" That was punctuated with a waggling of Link's eyebrows, implying something Rhett's mind touched on briefly -- before shutting it down forcefully.

He could feel his brain trying and retrying to make sense of things. It was like a bad dial-up internet connection refusing to give up when the line was busy.

"Hey," Link said, starting to get that Rhett was experiencing something out of control here, "you alright? You need me to--"

Rhett pulled away just as soon as Link reached out and touched him, feeling more on edge than ever.

The family photo albums. That hit him like a smack to the brain. They might've changed one picture, but there was no way they could've gone through all the albums Jessie had been keep tracking of since their early married days, before the world went digital.

He moved with purpose out of the room. After a second, he felt Link following him.

"This is a thing you're doing, then?" Link wanted to know. "Acting wild, I mean. You look like an animal... like something with a lotta limb span. Rhett."

Rhett ignored him, heading into the living room area. It looked different too -- of course it did -- all of Jessie's feminine, Pinterest-inspired touches were gone, leaving it looking more like his and Link's dorm days -- but he barely paid that any mind, knowing what he was looking for: the photo albums tucked away in the bookshelf by the TV.

He pulled the first one he saw out and started flipping through it quickly.

"Are we reliving something, or--?"

It was all just pictures of him and Link. And while, yes, some of their family photo albums did start off that way, eventually they all reached a point where the kids took over and Link became part of the background.

"Is this a fight? Are we fighting? You really that mad about the shower?"

Rhett pulled out another album. Same thing. All pictures of him and Link, sometimes with Cole or Link's mom, sometimes with Gregg and other friends, but there was nothing in there indicating Rhett had a wife and kids. 

That didn't necessarily mean anything -- just another, more committed level to the prank -- but then he got near the end of the second album and started seeing pictures he had no memory of ever taking. Pictures of him and Link at restaurants, on vacations, on road trips, sometimes looking like two close friends but other times they had their arms around each other the way lovers would.

Link pulled the album out of his hands. "Hey! What the heck's gotten into you? And quit ignoring me, stupid."

Making sure Rhett wasn't about to sock him, Link cautiously looked down at the pages Rhett had just flipped through. There were pictures of him and Link kissing, and not just one, there were several of them. Link stared at one of them in particular -- him and Rhett decked out in dorky matching Christmas sweaters, arms wound around one another as they stood in front of Rhett's brother's old house back in North Carolina, snow all over the place. It was making him smile, and that was making Rhett want to punch him. Well, maybe not Link, but definitely _something_.

"I forgot about this," Link was saying. His eyes lifted back to Rhett's, looking so much softer than before. "You feelin' sentimental, baby?" He cupped one of his hands to Rhett's jaw like he was going to pat his beard, but he _kept_ it there instead.

Rhett pulled back, wincing at the handling, at the endearment -- especially at the endearment, because what even?

"Alright, now I'm getting offended. What the heck did I do you won't even let me touch you? And if you say this is a joke again, I'm gonna--I don't know--I'mma be _REALLY_ mad."

It wasn't a joke. Rhett knew that now. Which meant, age 38: Rhett had gone nuts. Put that in his Wikipedia.

He backed up until his legs hit the edge of the couch, and then he sunk onto it, like the pressure of the world was guiding him down. If he looked anything like the way he felt, Link had to know something was really wrong. But how in the world do you go about saying, ' _I think this is a mental breakdown. Please tell my wife and kids. OH WAIT, I don't have a wife and kids_.'

Had he been having some sort of intense, prolonged sensory hallucination the past twenty years? Was he hooked up to a machine right now, being kept alive by wires and tubes, trapped in some messed up dream? Did he slip into some parallel universe when he wasn't looking, the way that kid did in Stranger Things?

That last thought, actually, roused him with a new train of thought to follow. The Multiverse theory. What if this was one of those? What if, somehow...

"I'm gonna sit next to you," Link said, regarding him warily like he genuinely expected Rhett was gonna have a problem with that. "Here I go. Sitting next to Rhett. Not asking again why he's being so weird. Just... casually... sitting down, like I sometimes do. Okay."

Rhett took notice of the fact that Link left plenty of space between them. That was good, because right now his brain was rolling over the revelation that he woke up in a world where him and Link were apparently a couple -- not even secret about it, if the amount of photos of them making out was anything to go by. Which meant they lived together, and probably slept together. That didn't concern him as much as not knowing whether or not they still worked together.

What a messed up thought to have. What a crazy thing to have running through a person's mind.

Letting his head fall back, Rhett rested it on top of the couch's back cushion, staring at the wall across the room. He huffed out a laugh when he was greeted with the sight of the owl-shaped clock that used to be in Link's childhood bedroom, now nailed in place above the TV. For some reason, he felt some of the panic recede.

"Okay," he decided after a moment.

He didn't even have to look over to know Link's eyebrows were crawling up into his hairline. "Okay?"

"Okay," Rhett repeated, letting his head loll that way so he could look at him. He maintained eye contact long enough to get the sentiment across again: okay.

Link settled back against the couch too.

"Okay," he came up with.

//

Thirty minutes later, Rhett had stopped mentally freaking out, having reached some zen place where he accepted the fact that this was either: a) a parallel universe, b) some jacked up dream, c) the place you go right before you die. Either way, it was out of his hands, and because he figured it wasn't real, short of murder, he couldn't really screw anything up where he was. There was something freeing in that, something that felt a lot like checking into Blondor and never, ever leaving.

Link was regarding him carefully, he could tell, looking at him over his cup of coffee while he scrolled through his phone, pretending he wasn't paying extra attention to Rhett like Rhett, at any moment, might regress back into that morning's behavior.

For the record, Rhett had a plan here. He was going to treat this the same way he'd treat an apocalypse, which was something he'd gone over so many times in his head, it was almost second nature. Adaption was the key to survival. Link didn't seem in on the whole parallel universe/dream state, so Rhett wasn't going to explain because what even would be the point? 'Uh, hey, so, I think this isn't my universe. Cool that we're bed-buddies or whatever, but we don't normally do that so I'm just going to smile through my teeth, pretend everything's okay, and wait until I'm beamed back to the motherland. Thanks.' 'Cool, Rhett. Um, also? 911? My friend's gone crazy, please lock him up forever.' 

Rhett had watched enough movies and read enough books about this sort of thing to know you don't mess with the timeline, man. Or the alternate universe. Or your dream-state, or whatever the heck this was. 

"Sooo," Link started, addressing him pointedly. It didn't go anywhere, which meant he was waiting for Rhett to fill in the blanks.

"Weird dream," he explained with a shrug.

By now, he'd got himself dressed -- his half of the closet, additionally for the record, looked exactly the same; Link's clothes took up the other half, which pretty definitively solidified that he and Link must've been domestic partners -- and was drinking the coffee that'd been left out for him. It was room temperature and he felt weird about sipping from something that implied another something he wasn't ready to acknowledge yet, but otherwise, it might as well have been a typical morning in the McLaughlin household.

Link seemed to lighten up at realization that Rhett's moodiness was unrelated to something he did. He laughed a little, this soft noise that he blew out of his nose. Now that he didn't have to walk on eggshells around Rhett anymore, the phone got put down and Rhett got his full attention. "You lucid dreaming 'bout high school again? Was I in this one? Hey--" He pointed a finger at Rhett, trying to be stern, "--I better have been there."

Rhett snorted, amused by what Link was saying, but also the realization that whatever version of Link this was, he was still pretty much _Link_. He felt comfortable around him. He wasn't like... an alien in a Link costume. He was Link.

"You're in like, 95% of my dreams, so. Yeah."

"Good," Link said, smug about it.

That was a difference right there, though. The Link he knew would've gotten flustered and made some comment along the lines of 'don't make it weird, man' and then deflected.

Link leaned in a little closer, scooting up until his knee bumped into Rhett's underneath the table, and stayed. "High school you and me... we doin' the nasty?"

The mental picture of that. Okay.

Rhett took a moment to process. This was almost like dealing with drunk Link, actually. Like Link with three too many drinks in him, who tended to get very suggestive and flirty, not to mention overly generous with his touches. 

He was happy to go along with the lie that he was dreaming about high school, but he cleared some things up. " _No_. Definitely no nasty."

Link sat back in his seat again, his leg sliding along Rhett's but otherwise not moving. "Dang. I like the dreams where we're gettin' our freakity-freak on, back when we didn't think it was okay to. Not that I wasn't jerkin' off back then, thinking about you. I might as well've named my right hand 'Rhett.'"

Rhett choked on his coffee. He started coughing, his eyes immediately watering.

"What," Link threw back, wearing a smirk that suggested he was delighted by the reaction. "Like that's news to you. Okay, Mr. I Humped My Whale Stuffed Animal and Pretended it Was You."

So, two things:

1) Him and Link were not him-and-Link until after high school.

2) Sex dreams passed for casual conversation at the McLaughlin-Neal breakfast table.

Link didn't wait out a response from Rhett. He started tapping his knuckles on the table top next to the bowl of cereal he'd stopped eating from five minutes ago, making the dishes and silverware rattle. "What're you thinking about our script? You think they'll like it?"

Rhett had no idea how to answer, other than vaguely. "Hmm."

Link laughed lightly. "Thank you. Very constructive. C'mon," he said, bumping Rhett's knee with his intentionally. "Gimme something. It's our baby we're talking about here. I am _NOT_ changing the rollerblade fight, I don't care how stupid it winds up looking."

 _Rollerblade fight_ pinged as something recognizable in his mind. They had one of those in Buddy System, which Rhett and Link had pretty recently crafted into completion in his own timeline. All that was left was pitching it to YouTube.

Which, he remembered, Link mentioned something about earlier. It didn't make much sense then, because nothing made sense then, but he was catching on.

"That's gonna be the best part, man," he said, and right away Link started beaming at him, happy with the feedback. He felt bolstered by it, so he tacked on, "We'll walk if they do. Take it to Hulu."

Link broke out into laughter, the sound of it high and easy. "Right, right. We're pitching it outside of YouTube now. _All_ the networks. Why not HBO? We can work in some full-frontal nudity." His eyebrows did some exaggerated wiggling that, again, implied the sort of thing Rhett's brain could only superficially acknowledge.

Still, it made him grin, if only because Link looks so pleased by what he was saying and there was comfort in the familiarity of it.

"I'm imagining the statement release video," Link told him, turning sideways in his seat, more out of typical Link antsiness than anything else. "'Dear Mythical Beasts. When is a family-friendly show not a family-friendly show? When it's on HBO. Let's talk about that.'"

Rhett wasn't drinking his coffee anymore, but the mug was in front of him, and he kept his hands wrapped firmly around it, fingers tapping out a constant beat for something to do. "Yeah," he agreed with the irony of that. "The response would be..." He trailed off, trying to think of a big enough word to convey INSANE.

Link filled it in, breathing out a, "Yeahhhh. 'Hey, Link,'" he mimicked, dumbing his voice down to imitate a generic obnoxious viewer, "'no one cares about your rock-hard ass, man, bring back the wings!'"

Rhett snorted. "That's what the people'd say, hm?"

Getting up from the table, Link grabbed his mostly empty cereal bowl and Rhett's mug, that he had to let go of. "Uh, _yes_. Without question."

Rhett pivoted to watch him go, angling his body. "Rock-hard ass, though?"

Link dumped the dishes in the sink -- and stuck his butt out, causing a reaction from Rhett that was mostly secondhand embarrassment and a vocalized, "Oh, gosh."

"Don't act like this ain't a lethal weapon. I'mma unload it."

"Gosh," Rhett repeated, looking away.

"That didn't come out right, but whatever. You know what I mean. Call the cops, officer, 'cause it's getting ILLEGAL up in here."

Despite his growing unease, Rhett couldn't help but tease back, "Hold up. Am I calling the cops, or am I the officer?"

"Right," Link realized, laughing. He'd stopped doing what Rhett knew as Link's Butt Wiggle Dance, so Rhett loosened up some, but then Link came back around to the table, sliding an arm around Rhett that stiffened him up just as soon as he saw it about to happen.

Link didn't seem to notice, bending down to shove his face in Rhett's hair. It almost mirrored Rhett's 'I'm dead' move, except Link was planting a kiss up top there and Rhett definitely never did anything like that during all the times they wrestled. He couldn't help his body's natural instinct to resist, his shoulders tensing up enough that Link hummed out a sympathetic noise and mistook his apprehension for something tamer, and impersonal.

"Dang," he said softly, soothingly, "you're really that worried?"

Rhett forced out a, "Yep," as convincingly as possible, ignoring the way goosebumps had erupted along the span of his neck and up and down both arms. 

Link side-stepped, dropping all his weight sideways, and Rhett realized Link was trying to straddle him at exactly the same time he pushed up and out of his chair. Link was forced to either hang on awkwardly or let go, and it was the letting go he chose, but not without shooting Rhett a look that came off offended as much as it was worried.

"I gotta pee a little," was the first brilliant thing out of Rhett's mouth.

Link backed up a couple of steps, his hands held out in front of him like he was saying, _by all means, do not let me impede the draining of your bladder_.

Rhett stepped forward, then hesitated, stopping long enough to play it cool by patting Link on the head. Twice.

So freaking smooth.

He heard Link say, "Thank you?" as he was hurrying out of there.

//

Having survived breakfast, plus a faked trip to the restroom during which Rhett used the time to speak to himself in the mirror ("You got this. It's not weird. Nothing here is real. YOU GOT THIS! Yeah! NO ALTERNATE UNIVERSE CAN PULL ONE OVER ON YOU! YEAH, McLAUGHLIN! YEAH!!!") Rhett was once more being tested as they drove over to the YouTube space together.

Actually, though, it was a return to normalcy: Link was driving, Rhett was passenger seat-bound; Link was nearly hitting pedestrians, same as ever. Even the music on the radio was what he was used to hearing, so for a while, anyway, nothing felt off.

Until Link slid his hand down Rhett's thigh, gripping right above his knee casually.

Rhett played off the flinch he reacted with by pretending to stretch out a sore muscle. Link glanced over, but Rhett kept his stare straight ahead just in case his face was giving anything away. Discreetly, Link let go, and Rhett felt guilty about the awkward tension now permeating the space between them, but he couldn't help but also feel relieved. Much as he had accepted that him and Link were romantic partners wherever he currently was, the Link he knew and grew up with was very much _not_ someone he'd ever let himself think too hard about wanting more from. It was hard to reconcile what he knew from what he'd been given; not to mention, under everything else there was the knowledge that he was a man married to a woman he loved very much, who he would never want to hurt, who trusted his fidelity.

"So," Link said, fiddling with the radio's volume until the music turned down. Rhett braced for a confrontation, but Link wasn't pushing for a fight. "What's the game plan?" Off Rhett's confused, still slightly off-guard stare, he clarified. "I mean. You pitching first or am I? And also, why're we going over this last minute in the car ride there? We're adults with a successful enterprise. We should already have like -- a well-planned presentation, or at least the idea of one. We get turned down, remember I said this for when we pitch to HBO."

As always, Link's easy nature calmed down Rhett's nerves, unrelated as they were. He had to get in the right mindset here or else a freakout was going to come on fast. 

"You got the flash drive, right?"

Rhett saw Link fiddling with it all morning. Just like in his own timeline, they had everything prepared on one, documenting the full Buddy System spectrum; from a brief yet broad description of what they intended for it to be (basically, the best movie slash web series ever, full of comedy, emotions, and a talking exercising bike) to all eight scripts themselves. It was as important and guarded by them both like it was a sixth kid added to the family, and he assumed that carried over here as well.

Link made an 'oh crap' face, one-handing the steering wheel while he lifted his butt off the seat and did a back pocket check. The exhale he let out was full of relief, and the smile he shot at Rhett said, 'got ya, didn't I?' but Rhett knew Link well enough to know there was some legit panic happening for a second there.

"You're lucky. I'd leave ya to fail on your own," Rhett let him know, widening his eyes at him so Link could read the 'it's every man for himself' mantra he was faking.

Link didn't buy it for a second. "Whatever. Both our careers on the line, you'd swoop in. You always do. Kinda why I like you so much."

Rhett's pulse picked up pretty quickly at the compliment, at the way Link looked right over, comfortably fond in the stare he was making sure Rhett was seeing. 

"Um. Ditto," he offered, after a pause, unsure how to respond. It was awkward as hell -- picture a gangly, inexperienced teenager trapped in the body of an equally gangly grown man -- but that must've been the usual game he worked with because it made Link's smile grow a couple of sizes.

"Yeah, baby, I like that," he joked, roughing his voice up.

The rest of the car ride, all fifteen minutes of it, went a lot smoother. There was business to talk about, and as always, no matter the universe, Link was a perfectionist who needed things to happen pretty precisely and as effectively as possible. They'd had these talks before. Not _they_ -they, but _his_ they. The _they_ he knew before that morning. It was the same game plan: they'd already spent weeks bouncing emails back and forth with the high-ups at Youtube. Considering their channel was approaching the 11-million subscriber mark, they both figured there wouldn't be a whole lot of finagling necessary to get Buddy System up and off the ground. Youtube wanted their audience to transition to Youtube Red. It made sense to use Rhett and Link to do so.

As soon as they got there, once Link shut the engine down, they sat for a moment.

This place wasn't real, but it sure as hell felt like it. The butterflies currently fanning up a windstorm throughout his sternum were real enough. There was nothing on the line here, he tried to remind himself, but he very solidly felt the car all around him, felt Link beside him, felt the stupidly hot California air already starting to bake. It wasn't real, but it was something close to, and for all he knew, he was trapped here. This was it.

"You ready?" Link asked him, mistaking Rhett's third mental upheaval of the day for a bout of career-related anxiety.

Rhett responded with a flare of the eyes and another internal shout of 'YOU GOT THIS!' 

They exited the car at the same time, staring the building down like it was a castle -- maybe not an impenetrable one, but definitely something with a moat to cross and a dragon in the attic.

"Just a sec," Link called when Rhett started for the double doors across the parking lot. "Hey."

Before Rhett could ask what was up, Link slid into his personal space, up on his toes so he could press a firm, close-mouthed kiss against Rhett's mouth. It was over quick, happening faster than Rhett had time to process; his reaction was delayed, coming at him like the reverberations of a bomb rippling through him.

Link gave him a bright smile.

"Let's rock it, hot stuff."

//

Rhett mentally checked back in about the time they were pulled from the lobby, into the meeting, but it came and went. He spent a lot of time getting distracted by the phantom feeling of Link's mouth on his. Which was pretty stupid, he wasn't even that hung up on a kiss the first time he'd ever had one, or any since if he was being honest, but for whatever reason he couldn't stop thinking about it for longer than five minutes.

He'd bring himself back into the moment, a moment that Link was pretty solely carrying, hyping Buddy System up in an animated way, long enough to add onto something Link had just said, but as soon as Link took over and started talking again, his brain checked out, and checked into a slow-mo replay of Link's lips locking onto his.

It was the ease that it happened with that he couldn't get over. Yes, they were together here, he'd established that at least half a dozen times, but knowing something and experiencing something were two wildly different things, clearly.

"What do you think, Rhett?" Link asked him, further communicating with his eyeballs, ' _what the crap is wrong with you, please get your shit together_.' At Rhett's fumbling attempt to answer, having no clue where the conversation had gone, Link wheeled himself closer until the arms of their chairs met. "Think the Mythical beasts'll follow? Sort of a you-go-I-go thing."

"Yeah," Rhett tacked on absolutely pointlessly. "I think so. We got a pretty loyal fanbase."

"Okay," Robert, or Jeff, or whoever he'd introduced himself as at the start of the meeting, said -- Rhett had never met the guy before, in this timeline or any other; he was shorter than Link, at least ten years younger, wearing a suit in an obvious attempt to pass as professional but the pre-meeting Axe spritz gave away his inexperience -- "you say that, and I hear it, I do, but I look down at my stats, and I gotta say, guys, I don't know if the numbers add up."

"What do you mean?" Link asked, treading carefully.

"We got awesome numbers," Rhett added, anchoring himself a little tighter to current reality. "Good Mythical Morning gets a million views, easy, every single episode--"

"It does. It's awesome. I think, actually, we got a diamond coming your way for your, what was it--" He ruffled a few papers, whistling his impression, "--ten million subscribers. You could platoon a very large army."

"I guess, if we were looking for a government takeover. We're not, are we?" Link clarified with Rhett, in a way that was very purposely meant to take the piss out of what this guy was saying.

"Next election," Rhett played along with. "2020. Co-presidents."

"2016, all we're looking for is a platform to present this really awesome thing we've written."

"I get that," Jeff slash Robert said, "I'm saying, cautiously, without offense--" He threw up a finger. "The Mythical Show." Another finger, "Ear Biscuits." A third finger, "Song Biscuits."

Link's gaze landed on him, forcing Rhett to meet it, and to acknowledge the failed endeavors between them. Well, failed in the sense that none of the above were meant with the reception they wanted or expected. He was proud as hell of what they'd done with all three. Of everything they'd ever done together, even if it landed them ass-up on the ground. But no denying, going by their usual numbers, none of the above stacked up to what Good Mythical Morning did all on its own. It was kind of like being hailed a One Hit Wonder except their One Hit was on its 900th number one and still going strong.

Knowing that he'd pinned Rhett and Link between a hard place and an even harder, douchier place, Jeffbert carried on, more smug in his confidence now that things were going the way he planned.

"Look. Rhett. Link. I like you guys. Youtube likes you guys. Kids under 13 like you guys." Rhett didn't miss the insult there. "But we can't just hand a wad of cash your way with the expectation that we'll see it back."

"So you're saying, what, you're passing?" Link asked. Rhett could hear the edge Link was visibly passing off as incredulity. But that's not what it was. Link was pissed.

Again, Jeff/Robert threw his hands out in front of him in an exaggerated show of defense. "Absolutely, no. We're gonna call the next week a trial phase."

"Meaning..."

"Change things up. Serialize your show in a way you haven't before. Let's see what the numbers say. And if it looks good, we'll talk again. Capisce?"

//

"What the _heck_ , Rhett."

Link rounded on Rhett just as soon as they were out of the building and headed for the car. He cut him off bodily, forcing him to stop in the middle of the parking lot.

"What happened to you in there?" he went on. "You couldn't have said more than the three words you did? I mean, honestly, tell me for real, do you not want to do this? You havin' regrets or something?"

If you were to convert Rhett's brain into a working video file right now, what you'd see was basically an animated question mark floating around a white empty room. He had nothing.

"Great. This again. You know, whatever this is, if you're mad at me, if I did something to piss you off, screw you."

Link stormed off and Rhett had no other choice but to follow him. He half expected Link was going to lock him out of the car, but Link had never been that petty. He did, though, silently fume while he waited for Rhett to get in and buckle up.

They didn't immediately go anywhere. Rhett opened his mouth to say something, the urge to explain his behavior so strong it was like he could feel it as a physical thing, with an actual weight, sitting on his tongue. But the words wouldn't come. They barely made sense to him, there was no way he could get them to sound anything but crazy to Link, and that was just a whole different can of worms opened for no reason.

"Are you going to talk to me?" Link asked, as the moment built from tense to uncomfortable.

Rhett looked out the passenger side window, shifting his weight that way too. It wasn't just anger Link was radiating; concern was coming off palpable enough Rhett could feel it on his skin.

He knew the second Link's concern turned to hurt, because the space between them went completely cool. That, and Link let out this tired exhale and started the car, backing them out of their parking space. He put his hand on the back of Rhett's seat while he did so, careful not to touch any part of Rhett like he already knew Rhett would edge away.

//

"Hey! You didn't text," Stevie chastised as soon as they hit the Mythical Entertainment offices. "How'd it go?" She was smiling big, expecting good news.

Rhett was shocked that he wasn't shocked to see her, or any of the other crew members, for that matter. Most of them were at their desks, looking on. No one had a weird second head or tentacles. It was the whole gang, in tact.

When Link just kept on walking past, headed for the kitchen, she eyed Rhett and dropped the smile.

"Uh-oh. That bad?"

"Sorta. Sorry. Hold on."

Rhett followed after Link, hot on his heels. He got to the kitchen just as soon as the door swung shut after Link. He pushed it open, expecting to find someone else in there with him, but it was too late for breakfast and too early for lunch; it was just them.

"Hey, man, be mad at me all you like, but don't take it out on Stevie," Rhett told him, pushing for a fight he'd been ready to have since the morning started.

Link was grabbing a mug out of the cupboard, pouring a cup of coffee. "Who says I'm mad?" His voice was eerily without inflection. That right there was a dead giveaway.

"You don't gotta say it when your whole vibe is practically announcing it."

"You're the expert on vibes all of a sudden? What's mine saying now?" he demanded, getting rid of the coffee, stepping into Rhett's personal space and peering up intently.

Rhett put his hands on Link's shoulders to keep him from getting any closer. He didn't mean anything by it, and it started out as a defensive move, but the morning had fucked with his head so much, it didn't take very long for all that pent up energy inside him to release itself; he shoved Link back. Not very hard, and not aggressively, but all the same, Link stumbled back a couple of steps with such a betrayed look, Rhett might as well have punched him.

"Link," he started, immediately sorry. His heart was beating fast out of contrite. He was trying to convey his apology with his eyes, he was trying to sear what he was feeling and couldn't possibly express into an emotion for Link to pick up on, but Link had closed himself off.

Turning to exit, Link went out the kitchen's other door, the one that led toward their office.

Rhett gave him a few minutes head-start, but as the seconds crawled by, his antsiness upped itself until he was practically vibrating with the need to follow.

He did, passing by Chase as he headed through the doorway.

"Hey-a, boss," Chase greeted him cheerfully, but Rhett was a man on a mission. He heard Chase say, " _Okay_ ," with some wryness, but he had tunnel vision.

Their office was at the end of the hall. The door was closed, their usual indicator that they didn't want to be disturbed. Rhett ignored it, entering.

Link was just starting to sit at his desk. Rhett took in the rest of the office in a vague, passive sort of way, noticing that their desks were pushed up together instead of at separate walls, but everything else was similar enough he paid the room no mind. He shut the door behind him.

"I didn't mean--" Rhett started, but he realized right away he didn't know where to take that.

It didn't really matter; Link was purposely tuning him out, engrossed in whatever he was looking at on his computer.

Rhett stepped forward, anxious and wishing he could un-tether himself from this reality, find the one he belonged in, the one that made sense.

"I'm sorry."

"Great," Link said, without looking up, without meaning it.

Rhett, normally, was a pretty analytical thinker. His thoughts were formed by logic, of facts and sense. Throw him in a challenging scenario and he could usually think his way out. But right now, it was like that part of his brain bailed, leaving him flailing in a literal unknown territory with no idea how to get out.

Few things had made sense since Rhett woke up that morning, but he was realizing now the calming effect Link's presence had been having on him. Having him there had made a surreal situation survivable. Link shutting him out now had those initial waves of hysteria ebbing back in, a tide coming on fast. He could feel it, could feel it drowning him.

All of a sudden, Rhett was brought back down, anchored once more. Link was there, with his hand on Rhett's shoulder, worry evident in his face.

"Hey."

Rhett's eyes were squeezed shut. He took a deep breath in and let it out slow.

"Will you please tell me what the heck's going on with you?" Link's grip tightened protectively, like he might've been able to draw Rhett's problem out of him that way if he tried hard enough.

Rhett still didn't have the words.

Link got it. Link drew him into a hug that probably looked ridiculous, considering their height difference, but Rhett let it happen easily. Link wrapped his arms all the way around Rhett, squeezing tightly, offering him his comfort and the silently given guarantee he wasn't going anywhere.

//

Half an hour later, Rhett had to fight off an eye roll; Link kept looking over the top of his computer to check on Rhett.

He appreciated it, he did, but the moment passed a while ago and Rhett was left again feeling like the best way to get through everything was to repress and bullshit his way onward until he pinched himself hard enough he woke up.

Rhett looked up, and Link made eye contact, opening his mouth like he was going to say something, but he got interrupted by a knock.

Stevie poked her head into their office. "Hey, guys. Everything okay in here?"

"Yup. Just rewriting tomorrow's episode."

"Oh." Stevie's voice was full of confusion. She pushed the door fully open and made her way in. "I thought we were doing--"

"A 'weird things' episode? Yeah. So did we. Kurt had other ideas."

Kurt. Right. Not Jeff, not Robert. Kurt.

Stevie must've known that's who they were meeting, because she didn't ask him to clarify.

"Are you serious? What a jerk."

"Apparently all we're good for is GMM, which means we gotta prove we can flip the script and still rake in views. We gotta rewrite everything."

"Geez," Stevie commiserated. "That's seriously messed up. Sorry, guys."

"Whatever," Link sighed out, leaning back in his chair. He ran his hand through his hair, a gesture of exhaustion as well as frustration. "We'll rework the scripts a little so it seems more, I don't know. Acted? He called it a 'trial week,' this next line-up of episodes. You believe that?"

Stevie scoffed, shaking her head. She looked over at Rhett. "You okay over there? He didn't crush your spirit, did he?"

"No," Rhett huffed out. He managed to sound convincing when he said, "Spirit fully intact."

"Do I need to corral the gang? I think everyone's left for the day, but you know how well I manage a group text. I can have them back here in five."

"Don't you got that thing tonight?"

"Um, Britney is not a 'thing,' it's a quasi-religious experience. And yes. But, and I mean this in a boundary-identified sort of way, say the word and I'm here. Kurt can suck a left toe."

"I appreciate that..."

"You're welcome."

"I think we're good here. Rhett?"

"Thanks, Stevie."

Stevie started backing up. "You're sure? I'm leaving, but these steps can switch direction any time."

"Go be young, please."

"Alright. I'll see you guys tomorrow, then. G'nite."

After getting a farewell from both of them, Stevie shut the door behind her. It wasn't long after that that they heard the office door shut too.

"What do you think? You wanna take a break or power through?"

Rhett hadn't done much in the way of scripting GMM like Kurt had asked. Instead he'd been scrolling through his personal emails, hoping to find something that poked a hole in his 'multiverse theory' -- an email from Jessie asking if he could pick up Locke at the next swim meet; something from his mom asking when the family would visit; a reservation confirmation for the next date night. Anything that revealed this as the world's most elaborate prank. But it was all Link, Link, Link. Emails from Sue asking when he was going to bring her boy back home. Emails from their friends, work and otherwise, RSVP'ing to dinners and hangouts. Emails from Link that varied from normal ('got an idea for a song. remind me to tell you about it later. this probably could've been a text but I've already typed it here.') to really, really not normal (dick pics.)

Leaning back in his chair, Rhett ran a hand through his hair. Link knew Rhett's body language well; he got to his feet and gestured for Rhett to follow.

Rhett waited until he had an idea where Link was going, which was up the ladder to the loft. It wasn't an out-of-the-ordinary sight, so Rhett joined him with ease. There were two recliners up there and a couch, each piece of furniture placed with the invitation to relax. More often than not, that meant a nap. Link used the loft more but Rhett had spent his share of afternoons taking a break between filming episodes.

At that point, it shouldn't have been surprising that he was greeted with a familiar sight that was altered for a couple rather than two individuals. The only thing up in the loft besides a couple of bean bag chairs was a full-sized bed.

Link toed off his shoes and rounded the edge of the bed. He took the far side, getting onto it carefully like he didn't want to disturb the covers. When he was fully laid out, he peered up at Rhett, eyes widening in question and invitation.

He had to stop panicking. He needed to just roll with things, otherwise he was going to unravel.

It was that thought that had him mirroring Link's actions. He slipped off his shoes and climbed into bed, under the covers instead of outside. Link blew out an amused breath like he knew Rhett was going to do so, then scooted in close. Rhett tensed but Link didn't press for anything other than some physical contact. Link curled on his side while Rhett lay on his back, in his usual arms-cross-across-his-chest stance. With a sigh and a wiggle, Link nudged his face against Rhett's shoulder and closed his eyes.

Link could set records with how fast he was able to fall asleep, in Rhett's timeline and this one as well apparently. Barely three minutes later, Rhett noticed Link's mouth fall open, which was the first tell. It wasn't long after that he heard the soft snores that indicated Link was out.

Glancing at the ceiling, Rhett tried once more to reconcile his memories with this new reality. He felt vaguely guilty, like he should've been trying to get back but he didn't even know if there was a 'back' to get to. What if this was it?

His anxious mind proved to be a tired one. He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep himself until he stirred back awake, when a hand that was not his own was massaging his crotch, and Link was mouthing at his neck. His heart nearly leapt clear out of his chest with the shock of it; he jolted, kept in place by the weight of Link.

"Hey," Link murmured against Rhett's skin, realizing he was awake, "you sleep alright?"

Rhett's heart was hammering hard. His dick was also working itself into a similar state. It didn't matter that Link was his lifelong best friend, in the moment, he felt more like a familiar consenting partner.

Link sucked a spot just below Rhett's beard. "Hm?"

Rhett scrambled for a response, but his brain had restricted his thoughts to what Link was doing. It took every cognitive power he could harness, but he was able to will himself into movement; he grabbed Link's wrist, the one that was squeezing Rhett's erection through his jeans, and stopped him.

Link pulled back with a frown that was almost lost amidst his lusty haze. "What?" Then he smiled, at what turned out to be a joke, and a throwback to that morning. "You gotta pee?"

Rhett's voice was strained when he said, "Yeah. I do."

He pushed himself up and Link took the hint. He rolled back onto his elbows, watching Rhett get up with a stare that didn't try to hide his rejection.

"For real? Since when do you not wanna fool around up here? You're the one that freakin' named it the Sex Loft!"

Rhett could only stare down at Link with a look that fessed up to not having any answers.

Link sat up fast, making his way to the bottom of the bed so he could reach his shoes. He put them on in a rush, with hurried, aggressive movements.

"Fine. Message received."

When he got to his feet, he avoided Rhett's eyes, looking around the loft like he was expecting to find something he was missing. They didn't come up with anything, so Link forced his way past. Rhett stopped him before he could. He wrapped a hand around Link's elbow.

Link stared at him like he wished he could wield fire with his eyes. Like he was imagining a maiming. Fair enough.

"Thank you," Rhett told him, so soft it took a second for Link to register it as words. "I needed that."

"Didn't seem like you needed _all_ of it," Link said under his breath, still feeling stung.

Rhett faced him more square on. He braced himself with a breath, then slid his hand up Link's arm, until he was pressing his palm against Link's cheek. The touch had Link immediately loosening up, like Rhett's refusals throughout the day had left him touch-starved.

 

//

(whomp whomp whomp)


End file.
